


Body Language

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Face Masks, Leather Kink, M/M, No Negotiation, Silence Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: Tony and the Soldier have a thing going, that no one knows about. Tony gets off, every time, and the Soldier never says a word.--aka, I had to fly across the US this week and realized I was having fetish feelings about some of the face masks that looked like the Winter Soldier mask, and so I wrote porn on the airplane. Yep. That's me, folks.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 261





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

> CW: it's not exactly dubcon, but they never actually negotiate, so proceed with caution if you need.

The Soldier's eyes are cold and determined, the rest of his face obscured by the sculpted black mask he hasn't yet bothered to remove. They've got to stop meeting like this, Tony thinks, a little hysterically, as the man stalks forward, herding him back into a concrete post as soon as Tony’s stepped clear of the armor. His hands, flesh and metal, take a hold of Tony's wrists, and he's not used to feeling  _ fragile _ , but with all those tiny bones under the Soldier's grip, pinned against concrete, Tony's acutely aware of how quickly the man could crush him.

That shouldn't give him a boner. Like, in theory.

Neither should the fact that he can't see Barnes' face, but there's a distinct fetish flavor to the combination of black mask, leather protective gear, and the wicked knives the Soldier carries all over his body. He'd slain six men with those knives without blinking, not thirty minutes ago, and while the official Avengers position is that the Soldier's activities are unsanctioned, that he's not cooperating with them, that killing enemy combatants without a trial is Not Done, Tony finds it hard to complain. Not just HYDRA affiliations this time, but child traffickers. Yeah, fuck moderation.

The point is, all that gear  _ does  _ something to Tony. The mask, the steel toed combat boots,  _ all those buckles.  _ And possibly above all else, the look in the Soldier's eyes as he crowds Tony up against the post, close enough to kiss if not for the mask. He meets those eyes defiantly, breathing hard, until a hand skims down his forearm, bicep, ribs. His eyes fall shut as his head falls back. That hand is the metal one. Well, by now, the man knows what Tony likes.

It's warm as the Soldier fishes for Tony's cock beneath a convenience zipper on the undersuit, which makes sense given the recent combat situation. The metal's only cold at rest, Tony knows from experience. This is far from their first dalliance, and the Soldier knows just how to hold his dick, how much pain to apply. Tony is so fucked up, but he grinds against the metal fingers, gasping, encouraging it. The Soldier is deathly silent, always is. Sometimes they talk after, though he still has an economy of words that Tony's never mastered. Tony doesn't even know, for sure, that he gets off on it. Except that the way he stares, always keeps fucking staring as he brings Tony apart with embarrassing ease, suggests a pleasure that's focused and sharp like blades.

"Let me suck you," Tony gasps, babbles, like he always does when he's turned on and his mouth isn't full. "C'mon please, fuck, let me, I'll make it good for you," he murmurs, trying to shift his wrists. They're both caught firmly in the Soldier's single organic hand, though, and Tony can't budge. He loves it.

"Please," he hiccups, and the Soldier doesn't respond, just  _ looks.  _ "You can choke me with it, I know how to take it… I will give you a literal million dollars, cash, if you let me blow you right now, think how many guns you could buy…" Tony trails off, whimpering, when the Soldier squeezes harder, just for a moment, a more restrictive pain. But then he's back to rocking his hips, the tight grip keeping metal seams from snagging on his fragile skin but also keeping him from real friction. 

"Okay, okay, what if… I could lick your boots?" Tony suggests, shifting tack. "God, I could lick any of that leather, really, I don't care where it's been, let me get my tongue on your gear, baby, let me fuck you with my tongue on your leather, promise I'll be a slut for it," he moans, not even talking to the Soldier at this point, just spewing this shit to get himself off. But the Soldier pauses, then, drops his hand from Tony's wrists to his hip, making him still, and Tony licks his lips. The expression hasn't changed, still that intense-as-fuck stare, but the Soldier's never really reacted to any of Tony's dirty talk before. Half the time, Tony thinks the Soldier just gets off on watching Tony be ridiculous, on reducing the great Tony Stark to a whimpering mess with almost no actual effort exerted. But maybe…

"Do you like that?" Tony asks, still breathless. "You want that?" The Soldier doesn't say anything, so Tony just dips his head and applies his tongue to the right sleeve, dragging it over the worn material. He gives it a few long, deliberate licks, moaning softly at the taste, and then the Soldier shifts, much quicker than he can track, and yanks Tony down to his knees. 

"Fuck yes," Tony gasps, but instinct keeps him away from the crotch, aiming for one thigh instead, where he uses his whole mouth to wet one leather holster. If he’s determined, he can apply enough pressure to the strap that the Soldier can feel it even through two layers. Based on past encounters, Tony has a sense of what the man likes, and so he keeps things sloppy, keeps his mouth open, drooling onto the leather accessory and then licking it clean. A hand presses on his head for balance, and then the Soldier's boot is on his cock and Tony is  _ gone,  _ whining open-mouthed and grinding up into the heavy sole. He loses track of his coordination as arousal builds, so he's just smearing his mouth and his tongue aimlessly against the Soldier's thigh, but the Soldier knows how to complain if he has a problem with it. For Tony's part, he coasts on the rough treatment, the pain, the edge of humiliation at being so  _ easy  _ for the man, and he's coming before he can hold it back, muffling his shout in the fabric of the Soldier’s cargo pants. As he comes down, he's out of breath, a little fuzzy, and when he looks up the Soldier is  _ still  _ just staring down at him. Tony wants to imagine it's a little fond, but he can hardly tell. Eyeing the wet patch in front of his face, he laces his fingers behind his back and rubs his cheek against it, drying the saliva with his skin. It's only polite.


End file.
